“That’s my idee exactly; but it’s
uncommon hard to settle which of them that stays at
home you’ll trust your money to. You see
Betsey was always pesterin’ me to give to charity
things; but I told her it was better to save up and
give it in a handsome lump that looked well, and was
a credit to you. When she was dyin’ she
reminded me on’t, and I promised I’d do
suthing before I follered. I’ve been turnin’
on’t over in my mind for a number of months,
and I don’t seem to find any thing that’s
jest right. You’ve ben round among the
charity folks lately accordin’ to your tell,
now what would you do if you had a tidy little sum
to dispose on?”
“Help the Freed people.”
The answer came so quick that it nearly took the old
gentleman’s breath away, and he looked at his
niece with his mouth open after an involuntary, “Sho!”
had escaped him.
“David helped give them their liberty, and I
would so gladly help them to enjoy it!” cried
Christie, all the old enthusiasm blazing up, but with
a clearer, steadier flame than in the days when she
dreamed splendid dreams by the kitchen fire.
“Well, no, that wouldn’t meet my views.
What else is there?” asked the old man quite
unwarmed by her benevolent ardor.
“Wounded soldiers, destitute children, ill-paid
women, young people struggling for independence, homes,
hospitals, schools, churches, and God’s charity
all over the world.”
“That’s the pesky part on ’t:
there’s such a lot to choose from; I don’t
know much about any of ’em,” began Uncle
Enos, looking like a perplexed raven with a treasure
which it cannot decide where to hide.
“Whose fault is that, sir?”
The question hit the old man full in the conscience,
and he winced, remembering how many of Betsey’s
charitable impulses he had nipped in the bud, and
now all the accumulated alms she would have been so
glad to scatter weighed upon him heavily. He rubbed
his bald head with a yellow bandana, and moved uneasily
in his chair, as if he wanted to get up and finish
the neglected job that made his helplessness so burdensome.
“I’ll ponder on ’t a spell, and
make up my mind,” was all he said, and never
renewed the subject again.
But he had very little time to ponder, and he never
did make up his mind; for a few months after Christie’s
long visit ended, Uncle Enos “was took suddin’,”
and left all he had to her.
Not an immense fortune, but far larger than she expected,
and great was her anxiety to use wisely this unlooked-for
benefaction. She was very grateful, but she kept
nothing for herself, feeling that David’s pension
was enough, and preferring the small sum he earned
so dearly to the thousands the old man had hoarded
up for years. A good portion was put by for Ruth,
something for “mother and Letty” that
want might never touch them, and the rest she kept
for David’s work, believing that, so spent,
the money would be blest.
